


I Said Maybe

by OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 07:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30035013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed/pseuds/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed
Summary: He'd said it once.No one even knows what a wonderwall is.But he knew it enough to put it in a song.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	I Said Maybe

He'd said it once. _No one even knows what a wonderwall is._  
But he knew it enough to put it in a song.   
  
_You're_ his wonderwall, and you don't even think _you_ know what it means. But then you hear yourself singing it and him playing guitar and bass and you think at least you know what it feels like, to be his wonderwall. Electric. Magical. Like falling into the deepest canyon and then flying up to the top of the world. Like touching your core and knowing what’s inside.  
  
He had to take a word no one knows the meaning of to describe what you feel like to him, what he feels for you. You think he likes that, no one knowing exactly what it is and what's the meaning inside. But still, everyone knows it's a love song. ‘Cause no matter which words he comes up with for it, in the end, it'll always be a love song about you. Whether it's fuelled by hate or jealousy or anger.   
By love, just burning, deep, romantic love.   
Because you think that's what he was feeling when he put that pen to paper and told the world what you are to him.  
  
And that's why you chose to sing it, not that other one. He said he'd sing one of them, either of them, but you knew he wouldn't be able to do right by it. Because he's got the words, got the music, right, but you've got the voice.   
You're his singer, you're meant to say out loud what he can't.  
  
People might think it weird, singing a love song about yourself, but that's just the thing. You're just singing it _for_ him, _in his place,_ because he can't, because you're his voice; it's you singing, but it's him speaking.  
And besides, how fucking weird is him claiming it's about Meg and letting you, his brother, sing it to her? Talk about keeping it in the family or what. But you wouldn't go near her if her cunt was the fountain of youth. Dogs, Noel's women.   
He says the same about yours, but he doesn't mind licking up their lipstick from your mouth when you come to him after, still gagging for it.  
  
But in the end, the both of you know they don't matter anyway. Or how else would he possess the cruelty to look her in the eyes and say 'it's about you, darling' when he's fucked the truth into you balls deep after you sang it. _Alright, fuck, you_ know _it, Liam. You fucking_ know _it’s you._ Hissed in your ear, come running out of you, down your thighs, teeth trying to find your aorta, you think, heart-blood, lifeblood.   
You're his wonderwall, and he's your... He's your brother who wrote Wonderwall for you.   
  
Even though you don't think it's a gift. His songs never are. They're his property and you're the voice he uses to make them even bigger, grander, more valuable. Come alive and shine and grow.   
He thinks the same is true for you. He fills you out, gives you something to sing and you flourish, become a star. Doesn’t matter you’ve always been a star, he’s made you.  
But you’ve made him, too. Or who else would he write fucking Wonderwall about? No one. Simple as that, he needs you. And he knows it as well; told you that, too, when he made a too tight fist around your cock to feel your heart beat for him where he knows it shouldn’t. You came all over his fingers then and you could tell he loved how much power he held still even when he was admitting dangerous secrets like that to you.  
  
Though it shouldn’t really be a secret. He makes you say it in front of the entire world, you’re gonna be the one that saves him. And you don’t know about all that saving business, what does he need saving from? You’ve always been alright, always made it through. But you like that he thinks it’s you who’s going to do it.  
It feels powerful singing it. Him right over there, listening to you reading his love letter back to him.  
That’s probably why he insists on doing it acoustically, all by himself. Fucking coward trying to take it back, not letting you sing the words he might as well have tattooed on your body, and doing it all too soft, too fucking weak, nothing like the fire, the passion you fill it with. You can make it an anthem for generations, kids in thirty years’ time will be singing it fuelled by your voice because you can show how important it is. Love story of the century and the one after that, something to echo through all your dreams.  
  
He has you listen to it one time while you’re doing it, you on top of him, in his lap with him deep inside you and you can’t stop shivering at the way your own voice ripples through you. You come untouched, and when he hums along while he goes off inside you, you think you forgive him. He sounds pretty.  
You think if he were just a bit cheesier inclined, he’d whisper it to you, sing along in your ear, _you’re my wonderwall._ But that wouldn’t be right, that’s not him and that’s not you. You can sing it loudly when he’s there listening, and he can sing it quietly when you’re away and out of sight.  
  
You like singing it because when Slide Away feels like a confession, this feels like a promise. It is a promise, you think, you’re just not sure to which one of the two of you. But it doesn’t matter because you get to remind him of it every time he lets you sing it, and he doesn’t get to forget it because you’ve told the entire world and they love it.  
You loved the look on his face after you’d sung it. He looked at you like... like he’d meant it, like now he could see what he was on about. It made your heart swell big in your chest and you thought if you were to sing it now, you wouldn’t get a single note out or go loud enough to blow up the whole universe.  
  
You don’t get angry when people assume it’s about Meg, when he’s running around claiming it’s about her. Not even her can seriously think it’s about anyone else but you. No one but you can make him feel this way.  
And he may think it’s still his song, lying in his bank account, but you’re his brother. You share flesh and blood like no one else dares to, and of everything he owns, half belongs to you. Whether he likes it or not. And he knows that without you he wouldn’t even be worth half of what’s your half now.  
Because you make him think up stupid ideas like writing about wonderwalls. _Fuck are you calling me there,_ you spat at him at first, and only when he hissed back, _it fucking isn’t about you,_ you let it run over your tongue and decided that maybe it suited you. It probably did when Noel thought it was right to call you that. Because you know that he’s right; no one else is ever gonna feel the way about you that he does, and you don’t want anybody else to. Because him and you is all it’s about, and if he wants to call you his wonderwall, then you’ll sing it and make sure everybody can hear it.


End file.
